On My Mind
by charsea
Summary: After witnessing Stephanie and Ranger’s heavy flirtation at the bonds office, Joe decides to turn on-again, off-again into off forever. Can Stephanie change his mind? Does she want to?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing, sadly.

A/N: Cupcake fic to the max! Although this chapter might seem a bit Babe-y. Probably there will just be one or two chapters after this.

Summary: After witnessing Stephanie and Ranger's heavy flirtation at the bonds office, Joe decides to turn on-again, off-again into off forever. Can Stephanie change his mind? Does she want to?

On My Mind.

"Please."

Even as I said the word, I could feel myself pulling an irritated face, my toes begging to tap impatiently and my arms itching to cross. Not the right attitude when looking for a favor, but I'm from Jersey. The extra-small t-shirt should have excused me of these formalities. Ranger seemed to disagree.

My name is Stephanie Plum, and I'm a bounty hunter, although sometimes I wonder if I'm better suited for an easier job. Like coal mining. 

I'd been working on the same FTA for three days now; Ciro de Luca, part man and (larger) part worm, wanted for grand theft auto. I picked him because he wasn't armed. What I didn't know was the he was the wiliest little shit ever, with eyes on the back of his head, and who had probably been a track star in high school. I've run into him twice, and couldn't even lay a finger on his grubby shirt.

"Ask nicely," Ranger was standing so close that I could feel his breath on my face, and our bodies were touching in places that they definitely shouldn't be. I had to not think about it, so I could keep breathing.

"I am asking nicely."

"You can be nicer than that."

Oh no. Ranger was in a flirty mood. I briefly checked the clock; Morelli was picking me up in fifteen minutes, so at least if Ranger got me into a state I could get Morelli to take me back out of it tonight. And it was guilt free, almost. I had a feeling that even though Morelli would be getting the physical gratification, he might not be pleased if he learned why.

"Pretty, pretty please, with a cherry on top," I said in a perfect monotone. Ranger gave me his hint of a smile, and my stomach did a somersault. He reached a hand around, tangling his fingers into the hair on the nape of my neck. I swear to god, Ranger will kill me some day. If he keeps doing stuff like this, my heart might explode.

"How about pretty, pretty please, with a Stephanie on top?"

Yikes. I was sure that he could feel my heart beating. That must be the reason his usually implicit smile had become a real smirk. 

"What do you want?" I sighed and tried to take a step back, but Ranger held me securely by the scruff of my neck. His eyes darkened.

"Kiss me."

There was no way out of it. Honest to God. I'm not usually such a slut, but when it comes to Ranger all of my rules and morals seem to fly out the window. Ranger wanted to kiss me, and I wanted help picking up de Luca. The problem was, I also wanted to kiss Ranger. And that fact made me a little sad; I was disappointed in myself, but I kissed him anyway. I tried to make it chaste. A quick peck on the corner of his mouth, but he caught my lips with his own, and coerced them open. His hands had disentangled themselves from my hair and were sinking lower, resting in the small of my back. I felt my own hands impulsively grasping at the front of his tight black shirt. I responded, and forgot about Joe entirely.

When we stopped to breath, I spotted Lula flapping her arms wildly over Ranger's shoulder. She reminded me sharply of the flock of geese that stole my box of Cracker Jacks, once upon a time. She kept opening and closing her mouth, bouncing up and down. I gave her my best huh face, and finally she gave up.

"Joe!" She shouted.

There are a few images that just stick with me, no matter how many greased-down FTAs I wrestle, or dead bodies I stumble across. One is finding Lula bloodied up on my fire escape. Another is Joe's face when I finally turned around. Until that moment, my mind had been racing, reaching desperately for excuses that refused to materialize and pleading to all the gods in history that he'd somehow not seen. Then I saw his face, and I couldn't think at all.

It should have gone like this: Morelli comes to pick me up from work, to take me to my parents from dinner. I can tell even before he says a word that we won't make it to their house: his eyes are pools of liquid chocolate, and he's feeling particularly touchy, running his fingertips across my exposed skin. Every place he touches becomes warm. It's not a massage or anything, but somehow all my muscles relax until I'm a puddle of goo in the passenger seat of his SUV. His voice is husky with desire.

"Let's stop home first. Bob misses you."

He started calling his house home a few weeks ago. I couldn't bring myself to correct him, and I couldn't admit to myself that maybe, somewhere deep down, where I was more honest, I called it home, too.

"I miss Bob," I'll rest my hand on his leg, and he'll press heavily onto the gas pedal.

Instead, he was there for a second, and I don't think I could have looked at him for much longer. His eyes were blackened, cold. His body still had its angles, but they had changed, becoming dangerously sharp. He turned on his heel, stormed out. I tried to follow, by my feet wouldn't move, like they'd been nailed to the ground. And there was Ranger, who hadn't spoken a word, but refused to release his hold on me. I heard a car door slam, and his SUV screamed into traffic, heading anywhere. Anywhere except my parent's house. 

"Well shit," Lula just stood there, trying to process what had happened. I was probably doing the same, gears turning and steam pouring out of my ears. What just happened?

"Babe?" Ranger's single word panacea broke me out of my thought. I licked my lips. They were salty. Was Ranger crying? Never, so the tears must have been mine.

Contrary to popular belief, I'm not stupid. It's not like I didn't know that there was something between them. I've seen the way they look at each other, and I've heard all the rumors. I've gone out of my way to avoid running into her when I know he might be there. I didn't care though, because I love her. And I thought she loved me too. That at least she loved me more. So maybe I am stupid.

I could see her kissing him. The image had burned itself into my retinas and superimposed itself onto the highway in front of my car. I knew that I needed to get myself off the road, but I was afraid to go back to the house. I was afraid that Stephanie would come home, and I'd blow up at her. I was more afraid that she wouldn't come home at all.

I pulled into the parking lot of the 7-11 and called Costanza. He picked up on the third ring, sounding tired as hell.

"Ask me for help on another case and I'll put a bullet between your eyes."

Not the best greeting, although it was welcoming to know that I wasn't the only miserable person here.

"It's over with Steph."

A pause. That probably wasn't the response he'd expected. We'd been on again for a while now. So long that we'd almost dropped the again, and become just on. Or at least I thought so.

"How over? Two days? Three weeks?"

"Over, over. Forever over," my voice cracked. Forever over. I couldn't seem to wrap my head around the concept. Even staring at the empty passenger's seat I could see her. She's only ridden in the SUV a handful of times, but that was enough for her to just be there every time I looked. "Shit."

"Where are you?"

"7-11."

"Stay there. I'll come pick you up."

The phone rang as soon as I hung up, the tiny screen informing me that Cupcake was on the line. I traced the curves of the letters with my thumb until they were gone, replaced by One Missed Call. The phone rang, and it was her again. Two missed calls, and a voicemail. My heart didn't want to hear her voice or what she had to say, but my thumb did, and that appendage had a bit more sway.

"Joe. Are we fighting, Joe? I'm home, so you have to come back. Yell some, and wave your arms." I couldn't believe she was joking. I felt sick, and I wondered if she was right. If waving my arms and shouting could possibly make me feel better. Make us better, just like all the other times. "Please, Joe." Her voice cracked, and I thought she might have been crying. I don't know why. I was the one who should be crying. "Dammit." Click. A computer let me know that if I pressed 7, I could erase her message. I hung up instead.

Costanza tapped on the window and opened the door.

"Hand it over," he commanded. I reached for my gun. "Not the gun, the cellphone." I gave it to him. He paused, looking me over, assessing a fresh crime scene. "The gun, too."

We went back to his place. He got two beers from the refrigerator and a stack of cult horror movies. He didn't even ask if I wanted to talk about. I appreciated the quiet understanding between us. Now that Steph was gone, Carl would have to be my best friend. I shared this sentiment with him after I had a few more beers, and he found it much funnier than I did.

Halfway through the Satanic Rites of Dracula, the doorbell rang. Whoever was outside leaned on the doorbell, and I knew it was her. Carl grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and dragged me, stumbling, into the kitchen. He closed the door.

"Stay in there."

I pressed my ear against the door. In my mind's eye, I could see Steph shouldering her way into the house, taking in the mess; two beers on the table, and eight empty bottles on the floor. She'd know I was here.

"Where's Joe? I need to talk to him."

I could hear her voice clearly. She was standing just on the other side. There were only two inches of door between us, and 63 fights, and 62 make-ups, 13 attempts at living together, innumerable nights together, and immeasurable feelings.

"He left already," Carl was a shitty liar. I'm sure that while he said those words, his eyes were darting towards the kitchen door. I took a step back, to avoid getting hit when she swung it open. My mind was clear, sober, as long as I didn't more too quickly.

"Hey," I said, bracing myself against the kitchen table. 

"Joe, I can explain. It was just some stupid deal. It was a joke. I needed help on a case," she was stumbling over her own words, trying to get it all out, but before what? Before I blew up at her? I didn't feel like blowing up. I felt like taking a nap.

"And the other times?" I was surprised by the deadpan of my voice. It didn't even sound like me. She seemed surprised to, opening and closing her mouth a few times before answering.

"What other times?"

"Stephanie," my head started pounding. I knew that logically it was impossible to be hung over, since I hadn't fallen asleep yet, but that's what it felt like. Like my body was rejecting my life. "Stephanie, I'm so tired. I'm too tired, Steph. Can we please just end this?"

"For how long?"

Forever.

I wanted to scream it, but I couldn't. Steph just stood there, waiting for me to answer. Like she thought there could possibly be a sentence less severe: A three-week break-up, for the crime of falling in love with someone else. I was setting her free, giving her a guiltless relationship with Manoso. So why did she look so sad?

There was an empty wine glass on the table. I remembered that night, a few weeks ago, when we were trying to figure out a date for our anniversary. We'd broken up and gotten together so often that probably every day of the month was an anniversary of sorts. So she took out the special occasion wineglasses, and poured our beer into them. We tried to do that thing where you link arms to drink, but she started laughing so hard that she poured most of the beer onto her shirt. She took off her shirt.

The empty wine glass was in my hand. Then, the empty wine glass was in pieces on the floor between us. Ahh, there was my Italian temper. I was wondering where I'd lost it.

We both stared at the fragments, dumbfounded. Carl stepped in at this point, and I sort of wish he'd stepped in sooner. I wondered how long it would take for the news of my domestic violence spread throughout the Burg. I hadn't meant to throw it. I just didn't want to hold it anymore.

"Joe, go upstairs. Go to sleep," Steph wouldn't move while Carl pushed me towards the staircase. For a long second, our shoulders touched, and I was looking straight into her watery blue eyes. Then they were gone, and I was lying on his bed with my shoes off, listening to their hushed voices downstairs. I felt like a little boy again.

I knew that as soon as I closed my eyes, I would dream about her. The dream would start from the beginning, the same way it did every time we broke up. Not when she was hunting me down after she became a bounty hunter, or that afternoon at the Tasty Pastry. Or even the infamous choo-choo incident. The beginning was the first time I saw her, when I was six and she was four. Her family sat next to mine at the church; She wouldn't shut up or sit still during the service. When it finally finished, she introduced herself as Catwoman, and then head butted me so hard that I blacked out. When I woke up a few moments later, she was on my mind.

Now Catwoman had her Batman, and I was alone. But besides that nothing changes. I fall asleep, and I wake up, and she's on my mind.

..Review please! And keep an eye out for the next chapter, featuring an awkward date with Ranger!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing, sadly

Disclaimer: I own nothing, sadly.

A/N: Last chapter! Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I'll be writing more cupcake fics very soon!

On My Mind

It's been two months, one week, and three days since I last spoke to Joe. I've seen him a few times, supervising a crime scene or picking up take-out at Pino's. During my two recent car related incidents, he didn't even show up to see if I was okay. Carl did, though, and ducked out early to make a phone call both times. They might have been to Joe, but that was probably my wishful thinking.

Joe Morelli. My on-again, off-again boyfriend, who was now my ex-boyfriend. The word tasted sour in my mouth. I tried my luck at saying it out loud.

"Ex-boyfriend."

It just didn't sound right.

"Babe," I felt the ghost of Ranger's fingertips on the back of my neck. Snapping out of my thoughts, I found every occupant of the bonds office staring at me. "Thinking about Morelli again?" His voice and eyes were cold.

"No," I denied it too quickly. I knew all of the indications that a person was lying. It was just one of those things that you learn as a bounty hunter: the dilated pupils, the rise in vocal pitch. And Ranger knew them better that me. 

"Babe."

It was a stern Babe. A Babe laced with cut the bullshit. Look me in the eyes. Stop avoiding me. I'd only seen Ranger a few more times than I'd seen Joe, although at least he still spoke to me. I was terrified of him. Ranger had already made it clear what was expected to happen between us if it ever ended with Joe. But I knew that accepting Ranger meant accepting that things really were over, and I wasn't ready for that.

"I'm picking you up at seven. Wear something slinky" Ranger said firmly. His sentiment should have melted my bones, and it started to. Then I remembered Joe's face and they were ice again. I opened my mouth, ready to tell Ranger that I was busy, or sick, or busy and sick, but he silenced me with a finger. "It's for the best, Babe."

And he was gone.

Lula and Connie fanned themselves, and shot me looks that conveyed how deeply they agreed with Ranger. It was for the best. Ranger was hotter, in a generally appealing sort of way. Joe was undeniably handsome, but he had traits that were uniquely his. The curling hair and the ever-present 5 o'clock shadow. I loved him more for those.

Time passed too quickly, and I was suddenly sitting across from Ranger in a fancy Italian restaurant. There weren't even prices on the menu. I was wearing a low-cut black silk number that Connie picked out. Ranger was wearing a suit, and he looked great in it. I tried not to remember how suits made Joe look like a casino pit boss, but I did.

Ranger ordered for both of us, and asked me how my latest case was going. It wasn't going well, and no small part of that was due to my recent inability to concentrate. After the conversation with Ranger fizzled out we spent a few minutes staring at each other. I've always know that he wasn't good with small talk, but he had asked me here, so it didn't seem fair to expect me to carry on the entire conversation. I tried not to remember every dinner with Joe, and the conversations that just seemed to come naturally; the comfortable banter. But I did.

"I have to go to the bathroom," I almost ran straight into a waiter carrying a large tray of food on my rush into the ladies room. Once I got in, I dialed Joe. I didn't expect him to answer, and he didn't. I called my dad next. 

"Daddy?"

"What's wrong?"

"I'm at Santino's. Can you pick me up?"

"Of course. Stay in the bathroom. I'll call when I'm outside."

I never realized how close I was with my parents until then, but somehow they can tell when something is wrong from just one word, and they can easily predict by strange behavior. Joe could too, sometimes.

Five minutes later, my cell phone rang again. I left the bathroom, and found my father standing next to Ranger. He looked confused, and I felt proud, that I could shake the emotions of the man of mystery. 

"Leaving so soon?"

"Sorry," I stared directly into his eyes, willing the same understanding I felt with my family to somehow find its way between Ranger and I. There were too many feelings that I could never put into words. "Women problems, you know."

"I understand," he said, and I could tell that he did.

"I love you, Ranger. It's just…" He cut me off.

"I understand."

I let my father take me out of the restaurant and load me into the backseat of his taxi.

"Want to go back to your mother's?" He grumbled over Carole King and the ever-present hissing static of his taxi's broken radio.

"No. I just want to be alone."

"She made pineapple upside-down cake."

"Fine."

My mother was waiting at the porch when we pulled up, drawn there by her usual maternal GPS. Grandma Mazur was MIA; Probably at Stiva's prying the lid off of Mrs. Cristicci's casket. I didn't say a word, just walked into the kitchen and sat down. A huge slice of cake was already sitting on the table. The moment that perfect combination of flour and sugar hit my tongue, I had an epiphany.

"I have to win Joe back."

My mom nodded in agreement. Of course she agreed; She already made it clear that Joe was my last chance to get married. She'd taken one look at Ranger and knew that was a lost cause, although she gave me enough freedom to make my mistakes. It was another one of her maternal instincts that I wished I had been equipped with these last few years. 

"I'm going to go on a diet," I said, swallowing another forkful of cake. My mother's eyes flickered to the plate. "Tomorrow. I'm going to take self-defense lessons so he won't have to worry. I'm going to learn how to iron."

"Frank, could you get the camcorder?"

"I'm serious, Mom. I have to win him back."

At that moment Grandma Mazur burst into the kitchen, wearing a firetruck red halter dress, her hair a sickly shade of seafoam green. She saw me sitting at the table, and her eyes widened.

"Stephanie. Did you hear about Joe?"

"No," my heart started to race. If something happened to him, Carl or Eddie would have called long before it made its way to the funeral parlor gossip. "What happened? Is he okay?"

"He's being transferred to Baltimore!"

I was like a deflated balloon. All my vows and plans leaked out, along with an amount of liquefied insides. I felt hallow, and my outer shell felt brittle. My mom served me another slice of cake, which disappeared the moment it hit the plate. Could he really be leaving? My chirping cell phone brought me out of the despair. It was an unknown number.

"Hello?"

"Hi. Umm…This is Sophie, Dana's neighbor. You said to call if he came home?"

I flew out the door and tore down the street, as fast as the '53 Buick would let me. Which wasn't all that fast. I pushed Joe out of my mind, promised myself that if I could just make this catch, everything would work itself out. I was driving with one hand, and holding my cell phone with the other. Ranger told me to call him before I tried to take down this FTA, but after that evening's disastrous date, I couldn't bring myself to do it. I had the element of surprise, or something like that. I probably just had too much adrenaline to allow myself to worry.

His car was in the driveway when I pulled up, and his lights were on. I grabbed my bulletproof vest and Smith and Wesson from under the passenger seat. Luckily I had taken my gun to get cleaned yesterday and forgot to put it back into the cookie jar.

I tapped the door with the butt of my gun.

"Bond enforcement," I said in my best imitation cop voice. "Open up."

That's when the door exploded. I can't remember my last thought, but it was probably something like "Not again." A moment later, I woke up alone in the hospital. I felt across my chest, but there were no gaping bullet holes. My head was bandaged up, probably from being blasted back onto the cement walkway, and there were small cuts on my arm and face. I was alive, and remarkably calm. More calm than I'd felt in weeks. I was warm again; I could feel my heart beating.

"Joe? Joe, are you there?" It was the only explanation I could think of, crazy as that might seem. It was the same feeling I had on those rare mornings when I woke up before him, next to him, and watched him sleeping. "Joe?" There was a rustle of clothing. Ranger walked into the room.

"Joe?"

Her voice penetrated the place in my mind where's I'd holed myself up. Looking at the dried blood on my hands and clothes, I was transported back to that call, just hours ago. The neighbor had called in the gunshot, and motivated the rest of the street to gather at the scene to prevent any future violence. The perp left through the back door. I was the first one there, since I was at home just a few blocks away. The caller had identified the victim as a "female bounty hunter, I can't remember her name." I prayed to God that it was Joyce Barnhardt. But it wasn't.

I had to knock over half a dozen old ladies to get to her side, and I did it without a second thought. She was just lying there, eyes closed, bond enforcement vest over the above-the-knee black cocktail dress that I've slipped her out of too many times to count. She had cuts all over, but the biggest pool was forming where the back of her head had hit the concrete. I felt her neck, and found a pulse. Breathing out a huge sigh of relief, I made sure that the bullet hadn't penetrated the vest. It hadn't. I wanted to pick her up, put her in the back of my car and take her to the hospital, but I knew better than to move her. Where the hell was the ambulance?

"Steph," I said softly into the hair around her ear. "Cupcake."

"Joe!" Carl made his way through the crowd, light flashing behind him.

"Joe?" Stephanie called softly from her hospital bed, just around the corner.

Down the hallway, I could see Ranger approaching, the female nurses dropping clipboard and spilling pills as they involuntarily swooned. Ranger paused in front on me, and gave me a questioning look. He opened his mouth, probably to ask what I was doing there. Our roles had been reversed, after all. What right did I have, to visit his girlfriend in the hospital? We weren't even friends. I hadn't spoken to Stephanie in months. She probably didn't even know about Baltimore.

"Sorry," I cut him off before he could speak, and almost ran down the hallway, out the door, stopping only when I could press the palms of my hands against the cold metal of my car.

Times passes the same way it always had since our break-up: not quickly enough. A week later I was at Pino's with a bunch of coworkers, celebrating someone's birthday. After the third pitcher of beer, Brian Simon went to the men's room. He came back smiling, and wouldn't stop staring at me. A few minutes later, Andy Diller went to the men's room and when he came back, he and Simon shared a knowing look. And both of them started staring at me. I felt my face: Nothing but 12 o'clock shadow. Damn, I needed to shave.

Eddie went to the bathroom, and stopped at my chair when he came back.

"You need to see this," he said between fits of laughter. I stood up, and so did Brian and Andy. Suddenly everyone at the table wanted to take a look. We all piled into the tiny bathroom.

"Check it out," Carl pulled open the door to the second stall. Centered in black on the creamy white plastic was this: 

There once was a man named Joe

Whose girlfriend was truly a ho

He caught her red-handed

With Batman, being candid

And now she's his girlfriend no mo'

So the girlfriend's been saying hail mary

While Joe has been rightfully wary

Although it may be too late

She wants to say it straight

That it's Joe she wants to marry.

And underneath it, in her tiny familiar print: For a good time, call Stephanie back.

"You're smiling," Carl said, poking me hard in the side.

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are."

It was hard to deny it, since I was looking at myself smiling in the long mirror. The first smile it God knows how long. And it was a smile for Stephanie, so I figured I should call and let her know. She picked up before the first ring.

"Joe?" 

"Yeah."

"You're at Pino's?"

"Yeah," And I started laughing. I couldn't stop.

"I'll be right there."

I waited in front of the shop while Carl tried his best to keep the rest of the gang inside. I could still feel their faces pressed against the windows, trying to get a better look. She pulled up a minute later, wearing a gray sweat suit and no makeup, more beautiful than ever before. 

"I was going to dress up," she said, breathless. "But I was afraid that if I waited too long you would leave."

She took another deep breath, and I could tell that she was preparing to babble. Now that she had me standing still, willing to listen, she would explain everything. Answer every question I wanted, promise me everything I asked for. But I didn't need all that. I didn't want all that. I stopped her with a kiss, long and with tongue. Inside Pino's, the action was greeted with cheers and applause. Afterwards I pulled her close to my chest. Both our hearts were pounding.

"I want to go to Baltimore with you. It'll be a fresh start. I could get a job filing or babysitting or something."

"I'm going for two week. As a consultant on a case."

"Oh," She was quiet, letting the information sink in. "Oh! Jesus, I'm going to kill Grandma and her senile friends."

"Still want to come with me? As an early honeymoon?"

"Of course, but don't even think about taking me to Baltimore for the real deal."

We were both quiet, contemplating the ramifications of that statement. Or at least trying to. I kept getting distracted by the proximity to her body.

"Bob misses you," I growled into her ear. I could feel every muscle in her body tighten in anticipation, and I wondered how I could ever have been willing to give her up. No more dancing around the subject: Next time Ranger makes a move on her, I'll kill him.

She was already awake when I got up the next morning, sitting cross-legged on the bed wearing nothing but my old Springsteen t-shirt. She smiled at me, tracing my eyes, nose, and lips with her fingers.

"I guess we're on-again," I said finally.

"No," She said, smiling. "We're on forever."

...The end! Thanks for reading!


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